154
Two nights before the full moon, Gawain was patrolling the streets of Kennington. It was almost November and the winter had turned very cold. He had now rented a small room, over towards Camberwell; close enough to make patrolling convenient, far enough away for him not to encounter Kalix accidentally. Gawain generally retained his human shape while patrolling the streets but sometimes, late at night, he’d take on his werewolf form and swiftly climb to the rooftops. He sat now, high up on top of a tenement block on one of the old estates. To his right was the Oval cricket ground. On his left were the small streets that led to Kalix’s house.
He spied two small figures down below. They were too far away to make out their faces but Gawain recognised Kalix immediately, with her old coat and her long hair trailing past her waist. She was accompanied by a girl he didn’t know, with spiky blonde hair and large boots. Kalix and her companion went into the only shop on the street below which was still open, an off-licence. Gawain stayed on the rooftops, not wanting to come close enough for Kalix to scent him. His heart was pounding. He had an overpowering urge to confront her, to tell her he loved her. Before he could give this much thought Gawain became aware that there was someone else abroad on this cold night. Further along the street, a figure was lurking in the shadows.
Kalix and the blonde-haired girl emerged from the shop, each with a carrier bag. From above Gawain could hear the clinking of bottles as they hurried home. He glanced along the street to see if the anyone emerged from the shadows. Someone did. It was the man who’d once looked into his eyes and known him for a werewolf. Gawain slipped over the edge of the roof and swung himself onto the balcony of the highest flat, heading for street level as fast as he could. By the time he reached the road below, Kalix had disappeared from sight and the stocky man was some distance away. Gawain hurried after him. He took care not to let himself be seen but he didn’t appreciate the experience of the man he was dealing with. As Gawain turned a corner the hunter emerged suddenly from a doorway. Gawain halted, frowning. There was something about this he didn’t like.
Mr Mikulanec walked towards him. He took a knife from inside his jacket. This was curious. No knife wielded by a human was going to seriously damage a strong werewolf like Gawain. The man muttered a few words and the blade glowed faintly. Gawain’s eyes were drawn towards it. There were symbols etched on the knife. Fascinating symbols. He watched as they drew nearer. Suddenly the knife was heading for his chest. Shocked into action, Gawain vaulted backwards. Realising he was being attacked by some sort of sorcery, he tried not to focus on the knife but even being near to it seemed to bring on confusion. Mikulanec advanced with surprising speed for such a stocky man. Gawain leapt away again, scrambling on top of a bus shelter and placing himself out of reach. Never before had Gawain had to flee from a hunter.
“You think you’re safe on top of the bus shelter, werewolf?”
Mikulanec grinned, and pointed the knife.
“This will bring you down.”
Gawain felt his strength draining away. He knew now what the man carried. A Begravar knife. Gawain’s great-great-grandfather had brought such a knife back to Scotland. He hadn’t known that another one existed. It seemed like it might be the last thing he ever learned in this world.
On the verge of passing out, Gawain roused himself with a tremendous mental effort. He howled furiously and leapt directly at Mikulanec, using all his willpower to break through the knife’s mystic shield. Mikulanec slashed with the blade and it caught Gawain’s arm. It caused no more than a scratch but Gawain felt as if he’d been hit by a volley of silver bullets. His arm burned then went dead. He lashed out desperately, catching Mikulanec with his claw. The blow sent Mikulanec backwards into the bus shelter but even so, he didn’t fall. He raised the knife in front of him. Gawain knew he couldn’t break through the weapon’s sorcery again. If he stayed here he would certainly die. He turned on his heel and fled, taking the hunter away from the direction in which Kalix had gone.